


paradisiac realm of subtle signs

by misbehavin



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds
Genre: Awesome Nyota Uhura, Everyone is Bisexual Because I Said So, F/M, Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Spock (Star Trek), Slow Burn, Some Plot, Work In Progress, but barely, mild references to discovery but no spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavin/pseuds/misbehavin
Summary: Lt. Nyota Uhura boards the Enterprise under Captain Pike's command thanks to Number One's suggestion.Spock is logically curious.
Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 45
Kudos: 59
Collections: Spock and Uhura Archive





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from this:  
>  __  
> “A squeeze of the hand— enormous documentation — a tiny gesture within the palm, a knee which doesn’t move away, an arm extended, as if quite naturally, along the back of a sofa and against which the other’s head gradually comes to rest— this is the paradisiac realm of subtle and clandestine signs: a kind of festival not of the senses but of meaning.” (Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So.  
> I honestly don't know what I'm doing. but.  
> Star Trek has been my thing during this global chaos, bringing me comfort and hope, and my excitement for SNW (plus some frustration about AOS which I haven't seen in years) made me think about, well. I would like more Uhura, thanks. & Uhura with her friends. & I feel like the idea of Uhura, Spock and Number One in the same ship would be fun. So, I opened a doc and started this. Posting WIPs are often scary, but I think just as I started to write this because it was what I wanted to read, maybe others will find comfort in it (that's usually what I want from people who read my silly fluffly fics). Anyway. I have a vaaaague idea of where I want this to go, and I will try to update even if I don't write much.  
> If you're reading this, I hope you enjoy this journey with me, and sorry for any possible mistakes. Let's goooooo.  
> (Kudos & comments appreciated 💞)

A quick, sparkling moment later, Nyota Uhura finds herself aboard the Enterprise. 

She hides her jitters regarding being assigned to this particular vessel pretty well but doesn't hide her eagerness to start working as soon as possible. At the transporter room, Number One, in yellow uniform, smiles back at her before speaking.

"Lieutenant Uhura?" she says, and waits only a fraction of a second for Nyota's confirmation before continuing, "I'm Number One. Walk with me," she instructs, walking out to the corridor, tapping away on her PADD. "I'm sure you're aware that you're not here by accident, however… That doesn't mean you have your work cut-out for you. The other Comm Officers will arrive tomorrow, make sure your collaborative efforts work in sync. Captain Pike's nice but it's my job to expect and demand the best of this crew, and it's also my job to know _everything_ and make sure _everyone_ is walking in line, so please refrain from diverting from protocol too much if you feel so inclined."

Nyota frowns. "Sir?"

"I've read all about you," Number One goes on, her tone still sympathetic but firm. "And I know you work well with others, so you don't need me to say you need to get along with your fellow officers. And don't tell anyone I said this but I did have a lot fun reading your article about Andorian dialects, plus you have great recommendations from people whose judgement I respect and I can sense you're nothing but exemplary in your conduct, _however—_ like I said, I know everything that goes on aboard this ship, so, _please_ do your best to not give me any unwarranted headaches," Number One makes a turn, lowers her PADD to insert a code into the nearest monitor. 

Nyota isn't sure about what would warrant her a headache besides things like showing up with a hangover and doing a subpar job or, in a worst case scenario, being disrespectful to other crew members.

"Of course, sir," she nods, regardless, although the Commander isn't looking at her. "When can I start my—?"

"Your first shift is tomorrow. You may take today to look around and familiarize yourself with the ship and the rest of the crew," she taps a few more codes onto the screen, thinning her lips for a moment. She opens her comm, "Number One to Engineering. Can someone _please_ fix the recalibration of the touchscreens on the decks I asked? _One hour_ ago? Thanks," she steps away from the monitor, walks down another corridor, chin up and shoulders relaxed. After they've passed an intersection and turned left, she continues to speak to Uhura, "In case you need anything and have any issues whatsoever, _do not_ comm the Captain. That's a terrible rookie mistake and I will never let you live it down. If you need anything and have any issues you may come directly to me, unless it's something medical, in which case, absolutely _do not_ come to me about it, our Chief Medical Officer is one of Startfleet's finest and you can trust her implicitly. If it's imperative that I know about it, she will inform me. Also, don't hide weird symptoms. If you feel anything slightly abnormal go to sickbay immediately, don't wait around and play strong," She keeps walking, her legs moving in a hurried pace but her voice barely affected. She speaks clearly, though not exactly slow, and as Nyota keeps up with her, holding one of her wrists behind her back, she tries to guess what Number One's mother tongue is. It's always impossible guesswork, but trying it's half the fun. Nyota knows most of these instructions, but she listens, attentive, because she understands they're not just protocol. Space is a risky place to be, always, and as they charge into new, uncharted territory, the risks will only get higher. Nyota doesn't need the long reminder that she is Human and yet, it still feels nice to hear. Especially from the First Officer of the starship she'd most longed to be a part of.

"What else…? Ah, we've encountered some issues in the universal translators last week because of some odd energy interference in this area, but it's been fixed," adds Number One, "If you'd like you could check it over tomorrow at the beginning of your shift, but I doubt there's any need for it. We're on course to retrieve some documents from a very interesting planet, and for now that's why you're here, so remember they're your top priority until further notice. Speaking of those documents, don't be late for the meeting with Chief Mir'na at 0900 hours."

"Understood, sir."

Number One scratches the back of her neck, runs her fingers through her dark hair, then writes something else onto her PADD and turns around to a stop. She takes a deep breath.

"Your quarters are a few sections away. Think you can manage?"

Nyota nods, the muscles of cheeks hurting from how hard she's trying to hold back a wide open, honest smile. "Absolutely, sir."

Number One calls for the nearest turbolift and dismisses her by saying, with amusement, "Boldly go, then."

"Sir," starts Nyota. She's confident in her abilities and grateful for the opportunity, but it's been a long time coming and she can't help but feel slightly overwhelmed. She might need a chamomile tea to soothe her nerves, but before she walks away to find her quarters, she feels the need to express, "I would like to say I am honored and humbled to serve aboard the Enterprise. I don't take this assignment lightly, and I hope I do a job up to your and Captain Pike's standards."

Number One's lips curl, and she turns to face the turbolift. "I'm sure you'll make all of us proud, Lieutenant."

The turbolift's doors open, a number of Ensigns wearing red and blue tumbling out. They straighten up their posture at the sight of Number One, and Nyota watches as she steps around them after responding to their greeting.

"Oh, and Uhura?" Number One says, with a shadow of a smile, her PADD under her arm, her dark hair falling over her shoulders as she leans a little bit forward before the turbolift's doors close, "Welcome aboard."

* * *

Chamomile tea is not enough to make Nyota calm down. She's certain the excitement will wear off, eventually, but since it's still running through her veins at full power she allows herself to enjoy it. 

Her quarters are cozy and the right amount of colorful, like she asked. As a linguist she doesn't use the word _perfect_ to describe things as frivolous as décor, but looking around it feels very tempting to do so. 

After she cleans up and changes clothes (she had been waiting for hours until she was finally beamed up, and the day had been busy prior to the ship's arrival on the Star Base she was at), someone shows up at her door. She knows a great number of names of everyone on the crew because she had looked it over a few days before, and amongst them there may be three or five old acquaintances and at least one friend.

She's happy to open the door and be greeted with the sight of another Human woman, whom she's spent a considerable amount of time exchanging embarrassing childhood stories, a few drinks and obscure books.

Kala is hugging her before she has a chance to say hello.

"Ny! It's so cool that you're here! I'm so glad to see your face!"

Nyota laughs, hugging back. "Me too. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm great. And super excited to show you off! I promised everyone you'd sing and show them what real talent's about."

Nyota huffs more laughter, hiding her face in her hands. "You didn't."

"I did," Kala affirms, throwing herself on a chair in the corner. "No pressure though, you can give us a show after you get used to everything and everyone."

"Wow, thank you," Nyota says, taking her PADD out and sitting on her bed. Her very comfortable, very nice bed, with very soft, nice sheets. "If I didn't know you better I would almost believe you wouldn't pester me at every opportunity to promise I'll join Kalareoke night. Wait, do you guys do Kalareoke nights?"

Kala pulls up her legs, hugs them, and rests her chin on her knees. Her eyes sparkle, "Oh, we absolutely do."

Nyota shakes her head. Her PADD has several new messages, ranging from official business to personal texts ( _don't forget about me & please have lots of orgasms aboard the Enterprise to honor our friendship! _ Gaila, an Orion she loves with all her heart since their first year in the Academy, sent her.)

"Of course you do."

"Of course," nods Kala, with a big grin. "Do you want me to give you a tour? Or we could eat. When do you start your shift?"

"Tomorrow."

Kala furrows her brows. They're not as thick as the hair on top of her head, but they're just as dark. She uses make-up to make them thicker, and eyeshadow to make her light-brown eyes stand out more than they already do. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'll do some fun reading and later today I'll get some stuff ready, probably."

"If you're going to start tomorrow, Number One must have a soft spot for you. I had to jump headfirst when I got here."

"You're a medical officer, it's not like you can post-phone saving people."

"Eh," Kala shrugs. She jumps from the chair, and Nyota doesn't hesitate to follow her out the door. "Still would've liked to grab a snack before reattaching someone's shoulder on my first day."

"That doesn't sound so bad. Besides, they have replicators in sickbay."

"Oh, that was just the first thing in a long list of shit that happened that day."

Nyota glanced at Kala briefly, crinkling her nose.

"You went into surgery and forgot to eat for several hours, didn't you?"

There's a pause.

Nyota doesn't need to look to know Kala is rolling her eyes.

"Yep."

"Did you pass out on your pacient?"

"Nyota Uhura, I would never!"

"That's kind of embarrassing if you did, Dr. Lima."

"I didn't pass out."

"Sure. You didn't pass out any more than we did not have major crushes on Professor Lila Duchesk," teases Nyota. 

" _You_ had a crush on her, not me. I'm telling you, I didn't pass out. I was just very, very grumpy. And tired. And anyway, enough about that. What have you been reading? And don't say the words articles, etymology or consonants."

"Alright, I won't."

"Oh my god."

"I'm joking!" laughs Nyota, as they find a place to sit in the mess hall. "I can send you a list of recommendations of the last fictional books I finished."

"Any creepy stuff?" Kala asks. 

"Yes, but I didn't like it. You probably will because you like horror stories way too much even if they're terrible."

"Okay, first of all, I like it a normal amount," rebuffs Kala. "Second of all," she says, clearing her throat. "Kalareoke night in two weeks. You're coming, right?"

* * *

Spock doesn't need access to the ship's logs to know they have hired new Communications Officers. He's aware of Captain Pike's request for people well-acquainted with multiple languages, with deep, commendable knowledge of a few others more and capable— and willing— of cataloguing entirely new, if only basic, dictionaries, since they had a troublesome encounter with sentient beings on a yet unnamed planet and since, despite their talents, the ship's Communications Officers presented… limitations. 

He had been in the room when Number One argued it would be beneficial for an exploration vessel of the likes of the Enterprise to have an expanded and therefore more accomplished Communications Department and she needed not mention a certain Sphere Data — it seemed like it had been so long ago now — to be more convincing. Spock had remained silent as Number One drew a list of suggestions and revealed to be particularly interested in someone named Lieutenant Uhura, who graduated top of her class at Starfleet Academy, has published articles and also a medal of honor for her revolutionary deeds regarding universal translators. She had made history when she went up in rank so quickly due to her impressive work, and since it is such a rare occurrence, especially when it comes to young officers, the _Essex_ and the _Singh_ both expressed interest in having her amongst their crew. She had made history _again_ when she politely declined both offers, worked on a science vessel for a period of time and sent out a letter to Starfleet Command about being available to serve on exploration vessels only if she could serve aboard the Enterprise. 

The ship had been on mission for some time, then. She had to be brought to a Star Base — a new one, recently built, that only existed thanks to exploration months before —, where the Enterprise scheduled a rendevouz to pick up her and the other new recruits who were going to work with her. 

Spock is logically curious.

It is no small feat to have a starship turn around for you.

It can only mean Lieutenant Uhura's presence and talent are invaluable.

He's been told he often stares when curious and that Humans find it unnerving, so he does not look at her for more than a mere moment as she walks into the mess hall, just enough to acknowledge that her image on Starfleet's database barely does her justice. Her skin is of a deep brown, her hair dark, her features enthralling, and her smile, though somewhat contained, can barely be obfuscated by her clothes and the room's harsh lighting. The way she walks, with confidence and ease, is a far cry from the stillness and seriousness of the image in her records.

Accompanied by Dr. Lima, she sits four tables away from where he's sitting, engaged in friendly conversation. 

Spock takes another spoonful of soup. Its taste fills him with warmth and as he eats, he thinks of the book he's been listening to, and how useful metaphors actually are. Captain Pike had suggested it to him as a demonstration of friendship and maybe even mentorship, but Spock has become distracted by an amount of things. He's a scientist and yet he can not make much sense of the metaphors or of the ways in which there is a silent, mutual, Human understanding between the characters. In theory, he finds the prose and the idea it evokes fascinating. In practice, he knows little of love but as chemical, electric impulses on the brain, the moral choice to be kind and the memory of his mother's soup recipe and his older sister's mannerisms.

He stares at his soup as he savors it.

Number One had said he would like one of the new Communications Officers and he had not fully grasped what she could have meant. Now, he has a theory.

Lieutenant Uhura isn't any more appealing to him than any other member of the crew and it is illogical to assume they would be a good pair — of friends or partners in any other capacity but professional — based on their personal academic and career history alone. He can admit she seems indeed fascinating, but that is of no matter. The Enterprise is committed to employing only the finest personnel. 

Spock does not frown. 

He finishes his soup. Does not listen in to private conversations in the room, despite his hearing allowing him to do so if he so chose. He's disciplined enough to block out the sounds of people's voices or at least ignore them to the best of his capacity.

It may be illogical to close one's self to the possibility of social companionship but, as he leaves the mess hall without a glance back and returns to his station on the Bridge, Spock tells himself he's under no obligation to talk to the Lieutenant any more than she is to talk to him. At least, not unless strictly necessary. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought people would like a little bit more and since I couldn't wait, here it is. I can't promise when the next update will come, tho (hopefully it will be sooner rather than later). pls do tell me what you think/if you like it/etc etc i need to knowwwww 💖

" _You're needed in sickbay immediately_."

"On my way," Kala answers, then gets up from the table. It's been half an hour since they sat down and Kala restrained herself from updating Nyota on every single funny thing that's happened on the ship in order to incite her to open-up about her expectations and her plans for when she's off-duty. It's been so long since they've seen each other in person that it would make sense if some awkwardness had sprouted, but Kala doesn't let it happen and Nyota still finds it as easy as it always been to talk to her. Kala had assured and distracted her, and their conversation had calmed her nerves a few notches down.

"It's always _immediately_ with those people," Kala jokes, one hand still holding onto the table. "Nobody around here can't seem to understand they're more likely to die on the transporter than because of space sickness."

"I don't think you're allowed to say that," says Nyota, shaking her head and already looking forward to Kalaraoke night, which she promised to attend. In front of her there's some leftover toast, some fruit, Kala's second half-drank cup of coffee and her empty cup of tea. She peels the fruit with her fingers, leans into her elbows as she eats.

Kala shrugs, distractedly twists the tip of a finger in her hair. "It's the truth. You have no idea how often I need to reassure people they just need some sugar and a nap," she grabs a piece of toast with the hand not in her hair. "Anyway. Make sure sure you eat your vitamins, Ny. And go to sleep at a reasonable hour." 

"Ok, I will. If only to not annoy you."

"Aw, see? Thank you so much, that's why we're friends. See you later."

Nyota smiles as Kala walks off. 

The mess hall is quiet, a few people eating and others just conversing, everyone engrossed in their own bubble. There's a low hum coming from the other side of the room near the corner, and a row of strange flowers pending from the ceiling. It doesn't seem like they're supposed to be there, but underneath them someone with a grey forehead seems to be relaxing by inhaling its smell.

She looks back to her tray, pops another piece of fruit in her mouth.

It takes her five minutes to grab her PADD and open a file about the syntax of Kelpian languages and some anecdotes about them. It doesn't count as work so she does her best to immerse herself in it and not think too much about the next day. She refills her cup of tea and as the time goes by, Kelpian verbs as a distraction mostly works.

* * *

Number One dips a french-fry into the spicy ketchup and leans back in her chair. It all feels like the calm before the thunderstorm. They're almost ready to get going, into deep space and beyond, and though every step has been _fine_ she can't help but wonder how soon something's gonna blow up. She hopes it's none of the reactors — that had been a mess.

Captain Pike's doing the diplomatic thing enduring small talk and signing off papers at the Star Base as some Engineering crew members check out some _stuff_ — as Chris had put it —, since they're here and _just in case_ they need spare tools.

Number One's inbox has ten unread messages and one of them is from the ship's CMO Alj about one of the new Comm Officers having a severe allergy to Earth pets, punctuality and blue-labeled hypospray.

"Something humorous, Number One?" asks Spock when she snorts.

"Maybe," she says, picking up another french-fry. 

Spock is nearly done with his food. He _really_ likes soup. And he's not one to talk during meals, but Number One is familiarized enough with him by now to be able to read him when it seems like he wants to ask questions.

"Something on your mind, Spock?" 

He doesn't speak up right away. 

Number one puts down her PADD, looks directly at him. She understands he respects her opinion and trusts her, even, so his hesitation seems uncharacteristic.

"I have wondered," he begins. "About what would be the reasoning behind having scheduled, later this week, for me to participate in a Communications meeting. I understand my position as a Science Officer may prove valuable since, to the best of my knowledge, the documents to be received and analysed will have information about the biological aspects of the people, however there is something… _Odd_ , about the way these documents and my required presence interlink that I have not been able to understand."

With a barely contained sigh, Number One crosses her arms. "I understand your concern. And if it was up to me, things would be crystal clear. But there are protocols to follow and, well, the Captain believes it's to everyone's best interest if we are discreet about this."

"That sounds logical," Spock says. One of his eyebrows is still raised, though. "I only wonder why the secrecy, since the selected crewmembers are supposed to be deeply involved in this matter."

"Safety. C'mon, you know this. The Captain would never withhold information unless he deemed it necessary. Maybe it's kind of annoying to an extent, but we can't risk a breach and we can't risk the amicable communication with the people. They're giving us sensible, detailed documents about their whole existence, and this— This in particular— It requires a little bit more care than usual." Number One sighs, "Listen, I promise you'll be on par with everything as soon as we warp out and get those documents."

Spock nods. He doesn't seem satisfied but his blank expression would never show that to anyone who didn't have a trained eye.

The sound of groups of people coming in for their lunch break makes Number One slowly uncross her arms and take another fry to munch on. The mess hall gets crowded, louder.

"Just trust me and Captain Pike," she says, and it does sound more like a request than a command. "You and that Uhura girl? You're gonna like it."

Despite not looking that convinced, Spock nods again. His eyebrow stays slightly tilted upwards. "I certainly hope so, Commander."

* * *

Nyota has an _okay_ first day. Her shift is a blurr, but a good blurr. The universal translator has been updated with her code and her co-workers are helpful, even the ones who aren't exactly nice. Between a visceral emotional reaction to stepping onto the Bridge she hasn't fully recovered from and some tense, cryptic meetings, led by Chief of Communications Mir'na, about the documents to be retrieved, she can say with confidence everything is going smoothly.

She thinks over her busy day, the Captain's smirk of approval when she said, _already done, sir_ and _I'm familiar with the language, I could help the Ensign_ , _sir_ , for the fourth time in under two hours. She thinks about the few Comm Officers she met, especially Ensigns Clark and Owen, who she's going to work with and who are as enthusiastic about music and secret messages as she is. 

After a shower and still with some sore muscles, she slips easy into sleep and dreams of First Contacts.

* * *

Her third day on Alpha shift is when things feel more substantial, reality finally settling in. 

Klingons are hailing them, their ship decloaking, and throughout the Bridge the immediate discomfort is almost palpable. 

"There's no way to know if they're hostile, sir," Uhura says. Their language is drenched in violence even if they're no longer at war.

A Science Officer gives a silent look to Captain Pike, and Uhura gets distracted for a brief moment.

Perfect posture, dark hair and eyes, pointy ears and eyebrows—

She had been so focused on doing her job right she didn't take a second glance at her co-workers. She remembers reading the list of names of the crew but there is no such thing as an obvious Vulcan name, just like there are no obvious Human ones. The words in the universe are vast and names are endlessly meaningful, and Uhura is not one to guess _that_ aspect of people's origins. It's kind of rude. Still, seeing him — the infamous, only Vulcan in Starfleet —, makes her try to remember his name, since she definitely saw it somewhere before. 

"Yellow alert," Captain Pike commands. "Raise shields."

Uhura blinks, turns back to her station. "They're requesting a private conversation with you, Captain."

Captain Pike sighs. "Any clues about the subject of this conversation, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

"Ask them again."

Uhura does, her tongue working fast and her accent perfected by hours of training. She clenches her jaw, "Still no response, sir."

"Captain," a gravelly voice says, and Uhura looks up to find the Vulcan Science Officer to be the one speaking. "The red alert would be logical. I have detected some strange readings coming from their ship."

"How strange?"

"I can not quantify such a thing, sir."

"Do you think it's anything actually dangerous or is your suggestion a precaution, Mr. Spock?" Captain Pike asks. 

Mr. Spock does not falter. His face is impassive and Uhura watches as he remains calm and collected as he doesn't have a chance to answer. "They're lowering their shields, Captain," says Number One from her OPs console. 

"Sir," Uhura cuts in, before she can help herself. She has seen the bloody aftermath of their war and she has learned their language to get a better grasp of who they are and make sure she's one of the people who guarantee misunderstandings don't occur. She became fluent enough in their language to know it's not unreasonable to be suspicious, and if they knew her line of thinking they would probably find it a respectful assumption. Klingons are warriors, born into battle and thirsty for glory. "Sorry, sir, but— The way they spoke… There's no way to know their true intentions. I agree with Mr. Spock, red alert would be wise."

Captain Pike furrows his brows at her sudden outburst, and seems to consider what she said.

There's a long pause.

"Number One?" he says. 

"Their shields are still down. We could've damaged their ship pretty badly by now, sir," comments Number One, without looking back at him. "They're not here to fight."

Uhura feels a tiny weird feeling in her stomach. It makes sense, but she still worries. She can't help it.

"Transfer comms to the Ready Room, Lieutenant," orders Captain Pike. "I guess I'll have that private conversation. Number One, you have the Bridge. Mr. Spock, with me."

Uhura takes a deep breath, puts all of her focus on her station. This is the life she chose for herself, the life she dreamed of, countless days in the stars and a new way to say "hello" every night. It will not be ruined, not this soon and not like this and certainly not by Klingons. She braces to sound diplomatic without losing an edge of dryness when she informs them that Captain Pike will speak to them shortly.

"Everything all right, Uhura?" asks Number One from where she's standing, right in the middle of the Bridge.

Uhura nods, breathing out and letting go of the tension on her shoulders.

"Aye, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooops forgot to post this bit 💕

When she comes off Alpha shift, her voice is not hoarse, but her throat aches from the hard Klingon pronunciation she unexpectedly had to speak. 

Tea.

She needs tea.

Replicated is not the same as naturally brewed tea, with naturally boiled water, but this is the Enterprise so the one she gets tastes pretty good and maybe even sweeter. It's lemony and with a sprinkle of ginger, good for her vocal chords.

She inhales the smell, holds the cup between her palms. She should be at her quarters, asleep in her bed. Instead she's here, unable to overcome the day's stress and with enough self-awareness to realise she wouldn't leave it at her doorstep. Between a night rolling in bed worrying about Klingons and the possibility of austerity and the empty mess hall she'd rather sit here, drinking tea and trying to relax without losing her composure.

Number One's voice rings in her ear.  _ Rookie mistake _ , she hears over and over. Letting herself be affected, letting herself reach any level of stress? Not good. She's better than this. She's trained for it. She's prepared, she can _handle_ it.

She breathes in and out, sips her tea. It's warm and it's comforting, the taste and the feeling of holding the cup in her hands.

Everyone else has done the reasonable thing and went straight to bed. Except—

Nyota and a blue-shirt Science Officer.

They're alone in the mess hall, sitting on complete opposite sides, far away from each other. 

It's unusual for the mess hall to be this empty, but it is.

Mr. Spock is indulging in a cup of tea himself, it seems, reading something on his PADD in front of him. He's concentrated, his expression serene and attentive. 

Nyota makes up her mind and is on her way towards him before she can convince herself not to. With one hand carefully holding her cup of tea and the other held up in a Vulcan salute, she greets him and hopes for the best, "Hello. May I sit?"

He glances up, one eyebrow slightly lifted in surprise. He holds up his own hand in the air. "Hello," he says. "Yes. You may sit."

"I don't mean to bother you, but I could use some company right now."

Probably a lame thing to say. Nyota takes a sip of her tea to hide how much she's already regretting this. 

There's an awkward pause.

"I am not sure I would be a good choice to fulfill that particular function," says Spock.

Nyota smiles into her cup. "Well, there's no one else here."

He doesn't argue. His PADD is on the table, its stylus perfectly aligned with its edge. His cup looks small in his hand, but matches the delicate way in which it holds it. From this close, his skin looks soft and his eyes somehow darker.

He's staring.

"I was also wondering if I could ask you something," Nyota says. "A favor, if that's okay."

Spock blinks, once, waiting for her to continue.

"I would like some Vulcan literature references. I'd like to improve my proficiency, and I figured it'd be wise to ask someone already familiar with the language."

That makes him lift both eyebrows. "You speak Vulcan?"

She shakes her head. "Well, some level of it, yes."

His hand is very still on his cup. "There are no classes currently at the Academy that teach Vulcan."

Nyota takes another sip of her tea, holding his gaze. She puts the cup back down, her lips curled up, "I learned by myself.  _ Am _ still learning. There's enough academic material on Earth for it. I understand the phonetics, but I can't say I'm confident in my pronunciation and I like to read aloud to train. Hence why I'm asking for references. You seemed like the one I should talk to about it. I couldn't miss the chance."

Spock glances at something behind her, then back at her face. "It would be logical to search for references on Starfleet's database. You approached me based on the fact that I am Vulcan and therefore would not anticipate such a request. Should I congratulate you?"

Nyota furrows her brows at his words. What— Is he implying—

"With all due respect, I'm a Communications Officer because I believe in mutual understanding, not because I like to gloat about my intelligence.  _ Sir _ ." She lifts her chin, "I personally like to get referencials from native speakers when I'm learning a new language, as I think I'll get a more honest and varied perspective. Starfleet's database, as any other database, has a filter. And I'm interested in as many aspects of the culture I'm learning about as people want to share, including texts that wouldn't be considered suitable or worthy of study."

His face is impassive, as always. He tilts his head to the side, "Very well."

"You'll send me a list?" 

"I will."

Nyota smiles, victorious, and leans back in her chair. Her tea is still hot so she's still blowing steam before drinking. "Thank you."

Spock doesn't complain when she stays to finish her tea, and they sit in silence for a minute. 

He doesn't move. Barely blinks as his gaze stays on her, his cup making no sound when he puts it back down after a sip.

While getting up to leave, she tells him, "I'm Lieutenant Uhura, by the way."

"Spock."

"I know," she says. "Good night." 

He nods.

"Good night, Lieutenant."

* * *

  
  
NEW MESSAGE

_**DR. LIMA, K.** : If I find out you're sleep deprived on your first weeks, I swear I will punch you in your solar plexus_

**LT. UHURA, N.** :  _ I'm not sleep deprived yet. Give it a few more weeks _

_**DR. LIMA, K.** : Don't even joke I WILL send nurses to your quarters to stab you with hypocalmant _

_**LT. UHURA, N.** : Zzzz _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing smart characters is so hard???? does any of this makes sense??? idk but we'll roll with it

"What do you think it's gonna be?" asks Ensign Angie Owen. The light from the console is making her skin produce varied colored freckles all over her neck, a common occurrence in her overly light-sensitive species. 

Ensign Lee Clark is sat at a chair, her stylus in her mouth. "Romulan intel," she shrugs. 

Angie doesn't like when Humans do that, Nyota has learned. 

Nyota leans against the console, watching the transferred data from the ship's previous logs _still_ loading. Chief of Communications Mir'na had told her that what she'll find in the logs may be underwhelming as there will be a lot of routine inter communication. Nyota doesn't care. In fact, that's probably a good thing. For at least a couple of weeks she'll have her hands full with the documents Number One is so eager about.

"Oh, I hope not," Angie says. 

"If it was secret Romulan intel, we would've had to work alongside security," argues Nyota. She shakes her head. "And there'd be way more high ranking officers on this. It's not Romulans."

Lee circles something on her PADD in a big, bold red line. "How can you be sure?"

"I can't," Nyota admits. "But at least in my opinion, it can't be Romulans. it's too unlikely."

Angie scratches their forehead. "Why all the secrecy then?"

"Safety," Number One says, barging in, Chief Mir'na, Mr. Spock and another Science Officer behind her. Lee doesn't get up from her chair but, at the sight of them, she adjusts her back and posture along with the other two. "As I have stated a number of times previously."

She places two PADDs before them, writes her authorization code into the console. "We take every step of this operation seriously. Communication is key to a good diplomatic relationship, don't we all agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"Of course, sir."

"Absolutely, yes."

She looks up to each of their faces, gestures to the holoprogram starting to take form. "I have the precious documents. Shall we?"

Everyone nods.

"Alright," she starts. "Captain Pike will stop by later but here's what you're going to do. You will work together to understand this species, their cultures and at least two of their languages and input those languages in the universal translator manually. Thanks to Lieutenant Uhura we have a much easier way to do that and to learn new languages, but easier doesn't mean less effort, especially when it comes to first steps, like what we are doing here. Now, you are all fine officers but listen very carefully to me now: these documents are filled with complex, delicate information, and that's the reason we are being careful. This counts as Second Contact and you are not to speak with anyone outside this room about it. As of now this is a somewhat classified project."

Nyota holds her breath. Then she lets it out very, very slowly.

"These people are in many ways different from civilizations we have encountered before and they contacted us first, when they intercepted one of our probes. The only reason we managed to establish any communication was because they were patient and diligent in finding a way to make us exchange information. Chief?"

Mir'na takes one step forward, "They are doing their work in attempting to translate some of the documents we have sent them about the Federation. Our job here is to learn as much about them as possible so that further contact can be maintained."

"Sir, if I may," Lee asks, frowning at Number One. "How difficult is it to understand them? I mean, how different are they that the universal translator couldn't pick up basic stuff?"

The other Science Officer cuts in. "They're different enough that the party who beamed down to the planet's surface almost died because of a misunderstanding and two of them are still in sickbay."

The freckles on Angie's skin disappear completely. "Wait, really?"

"Yes," says Spock. "Really."

Nyota swallows. That's awful. "Oh."

"They're not hostile," assures Number One. "But the way they communicate may be dangerous if misunderstood. I don't exactly understand it myself, but that's why you're all here."

Nyota keeps her eyes on her as she asks, "Sir, may I ask why are we working with Science Officers in translation work?"

Captain Pike suddenly walks in. "Hello, everyone," he says, standing by Number One's side of the console. Lee stays in her chair while everyone else puffs their chest at the sight of him. "I was needed on the Bridge, I apologize for my tardiness. Please, proceed."

Number One turns back to the rest of them. "Chief, you want to answer the Lieutenant's question?"

Mir'na looks at Nyota. "I have talked to the officers who were on the away team and I have read a small part of the documents this morning. It seems like their languages are intrinsically linked to their biology. They not only speak with their bodies, but with each and every part of them. They are bipeds, they have limbs, eyes, respiratory and vascular systems and they seem to be overall similar to Humans in terms of physical appearance and physiology. They make sounds, as we do, but not as often. Their way of communication is sophisticated, with a great deal of complexities we are not familiar with, including how they release toxins to indicate tone. That's how our officers got hurt, by the way. An attempt at communication that had an unfortunate result. Their toxins are harmful to off-worlders, it seems."

"It is logical, then, for Science Officers and Communications Officers to work together to better understand them," adds Spock. He keeps his gaze fixated on Captain Pike, but he doesn't seem to expect approval. He seems certain there will be no disagreement to his sounding reason. Nyota feels slightly amused and thinks, in her entry level Vulcan, _fascinating_. "As separately there would be a greater chance for error."

With a nod, the Captain joins in the conversation.

"They're warp capable but barely get off the planet as far as we could tell, so one of the goals once we can actually talk to them will probably be for Starfleet to help them integrate into deep routine space travel. They're struggling to understand us as much as we are struggling to understand them, but at least we managed to establish some basic things, which it's how we found a way to exchange documents. I applaud you again, Chief, that was a pretty difficult task to pull off and though I am glad and grateful with their patience you also did remarkable work."

Mir'na makes a kissing sound to one of her shoulders, smiles. She taps her chin twice, the sound of her robotic replacement there less sharp than people expect it to be, "Thank you."

"Now," continues Captain Pike, addressing the whole room, "Your mission is to find a way of speaking to them in a less restrictive manner. I'm sure Chief Mir'na is open to any ideas, however strange, and so am I. Clear?"

"Aye, sir," they say in unison.

The other Science Officer makes a face.

"I was just thinking about that day and— It felt like we were playing charades. Or rather they were and we felt like idiots."

Angie and Spock exchange a look. "Charades?" she asks.

Lee almost rolls her eyes, but catches herself before she does and looks up at the Captain. "Do we have a deadline, sir?" 

He scratches his jaw. "Every week you'll write reports about developments and they'll be relayed to Starfleet Command, but that's all for now. We can't go back to the planet without something of substance, so no pressure to get this project done in less time than however long it needs to be. I trust you're all competent and that thanks to you we'll be able to hold a conversation with these people soon enough."

"It will take at least another ten minutes for the download to complete, but as soon as it does they'll be able to start," says Number One, tapping on the console again.

"Alright," Captain Pike says, making a hasty retreat out the door. "Everyone ready? Get to it and good luck."

Spock doesn't miss a beat. "Luck is illogical, Captain."

Nyota thinks it's hilarious when she isn't the only one who snorts at that.

* * *

Mir'na gives them the day to go through the documents, even if only in a superficial way. She oversees too much of the ship to be able to participate in their task (at least that's what she informs them; Nyota thinks it's probable she's working on some other classified project), so she tells them she'll lead them as she can and they'll hold weekly meetings to discuss how things are going. She expects them to come up with ideas as soon as they're done going through the numerous pages of data, but she makes it clear that as she has a more educated idea of the content already and so she has a few plans about their course of action, but she wants to hear their ideas out first. _Language is complex, and beautiful, and difficult,_ Mir'na recites, and Nyota gets transported back to the Academy, remembers how every professor in the department never tired of saying that.

Lee, Angie and Xander — the other Science Officer to work on this— scroll through the documents as they all realize it's not organized in a particular order, or at least not in one they can easily understand.

Xander tells the computer to rearrange every section, but Spock and Nyota both cut in at the same time, "Computer, cancel that order."

"Sir?" Xander tilts his head to the side, looking between them, nostrils flaring.

Spock and Uhura exchange a brief look.

"The way they arranged this also tells us about who they are," she says. "We should begin from where they want us to begin."

Lee zooms in on a glowing dot in one of the pages.

"I think that would probably be the pages marked with those."

"In theory, it could mean the marked pages are more relevant and more complex and therefore would require deeper understanding," argues Spock. "Perhaps we should start our analysis with sections with no markings."

Since Chief Mir'na is too busy to overlook this project, Nyota, alongside Spock, will be the highest ranking person in the room. Technically, Spock is her superior officer, but this is her area, after all, and she won't let a bio teacher tell her the best way to insert minimal context in the universal translator. 

"Perhaps we should not," she disagrees, turning to face him. "I agree with Ensign Clark, there must be a reason they put those signals there and it makes sense to assume we should investigate those pages first. They may contain key elements that would help us understand the rest of these documents better."

"Very well," Spock says, conceding.

His face shows almost no trace of emotion, but Nyota can't shake the feeling of _challenge_ when he doesn't look away from her.


	5. Chapter 5

"I think they set up an introduction to help us," comments Angie. She pulled up a chair and sat down, and now she's highlighting some bits. She expanded the file to 3D mode, so the symbols are floating in the air in front of her, making her freckles, against their light, dance in her skin. "This part is formatted in a way that really resembles a guideline of categories. Oh, I love them already. They're actually very similar to us then, except for the toxins."

Spock expands another piece of the documents to 3D, the light matching his blue uniform, both colors soft to anyone's eyes. "Before we attempt to translate a single word, we must formulate a plan as to how communication can be established and maintained. They have symbols to represent their language, as we all do, and that is incredibly fortunate. But understanding symbols does not guarantee fluency."

Nyota nods, agreeing.

"Of course not. We won't understand context and behavior and cognitive processes etc etc. But… unless we can go to their planet and insert ourselves in the context and observe them as they observe us, we can't rush this. So... From what we have been told, there's a link between their languages and every section of their bodies, right? That's not that strange to us. We talk with our bodies too, we have multiple sign languages, we can communicate with each other through gestures, through glances, through changes in the skin, through touch. If they're similar to us and they're studying us too we can extrapolate a little, and I guess the question now would be, how would we adapt into their perspective to make ourselves understood in their language? Since that seems to be the top difficulty?"

Xander walks around the console, thoughtful. "Y'know, what you just said would be a thousand times easier if we had an empath in the crew, but yeah… We know they release toxins to indicate tone, but we learned that the hard way. And we can't replicate that. Or can we?"

"Maybe in the far away future," laments Lee. "For now we can only try to find commonalities between us and them and focus on that while also seeking to comprehend the differences as best we can. We need to meet them half-way and hope they meet us. And then we'll keep exchanging notes from a safe distance."

Spock clicks on the corner of his PADD, fingers hovering, ready to type.

"Common ground. What we consider basic and shared observational evidence of reality. We could start small, with simple elements and escalate from there as we move forward."

Lee crosses her arms, doesn't even pretend to hold back a sigh. "This is going to be a long day."

Nyota turns to Spock.

"What are you specialized in, again?"

He seems puzzled by the question.

"I'm a Science Officer."

It takes a lot of willpower to not roll her eyes.

"Yes, but what is your chosen specialty?"

He lifts an eyebrow.

"Science."

"Don't argue with him about that, Lieutenant," says Xander, around a playful grin. "It's not going to be good for you."

"Got it." Nyota turns back, spinning in her chair. 

"I have also been invited to teach Xenolinguistics course programs at Starfleet Academy, as I presume you must wish to know by your line of questioning."

It's her turn to lift her eyebrows, but she schools her expression quickly.

"Alright. What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of those elements of shared reality?"

"Ooh, should we make our own list?" Angie exclaims, before Spock can say a thing. "That'd be fun."

"What's the first thing that comes to _your_ mind?" asks Lee to Nyota.

She takes a few seconds to think it through. There's so many things that are different across the galaxy, and so many things that aren't. There are things that aren't easily translated (or translatable at all) but not because its sentiment isn't felt in every place. 

The glowing dot on the open file above the console is tiny, golden, very bright. A reflection of it can be seen in every monitor hanging on the walls.

_Basic elements of shared reality_. 

"Life," Nyota mutters in response, watching as Spock writes down every syllable of what she says. "Nature. Conscience. Interaction. Communication. Diversity. Time. Progress. Unity."

Spock's eyes are dark but something lights up in them, something that is as golden and as bright as the marks on the documents, and Nyota wonders if she's the only one who sees it.

"We are in accordance, Lieutenant," he says. He doesn't even _blink_ and it's… Disarming. "That is a most acceptable answer." 


	6. Chapter 6

There's debate about what to call this new species of probable friends. The way they call themselves is there in the documents, but its phonology is hard to replicate. There's encrypted audio files in a few pages, but overall very little, and Uhura manages to get into some of them as she's dedicated to cryptology as well; Her tongue can't do whatever it needs to do to sound like them. She mutters, trying to repeat the same thing she hears, but it's no use. Angie gives it a try too, also unsuccessful. 

They discuss back and forth, talk about if it's in any way possible to get an approximation of the actual name, and when that fails, try to come up with something at least temporary. Everyone's ideas don't seem quite appropriate. They are not _others_ and though they are strangers, the objective of what they are doing here is to make that no longer true. The conversation shifts into ethics. It feels disrespectful to use anything but their actual names, and if they can't yet pronounce it that is a problem for them to solve and to learn. Finally they settle on leaving it to Chief Mir'na to find out how to replicate the very particular sounds and simply move on.

There's the reports from the away team for them to revisit as they work, but it's information that is already insufficient.

Establishing common ground starts with speculation about what the other party does and doesn't know. Fact is, they know a lot of the same things those aboard the Enterprise do, after all they're scientists, linguists and engineers too. But Nyota is none too happy about looking for scientific clues. What does it matter if they find out their words for _warp core_ and not how they tell someone they love them?

"You are, of course, presuming they are as emotional as Humans are," Spock doesn't resist pointing out.

The reports of the away crew aren't of much help. Rereading them over and over for the past couple of days while also analyzing bits and pieces of the documents and juggling shifts, started to make it all feel like a barrier, the crew's details too fuzzy and somehow simplistic for what they need. They have been talking for a while about First Contact and the species' biology and about _communication_ , and the fact that neither of them have met these new people in person, it's— it's not ideal. Contact means _contact_. And this feels lacking.

Spock has yet to voice any of his theories, but he sure does seem eager to defy Uhura's at any given chance. He listens every time she speaks with devoted attention, right before saying _something_ — his eyes looking like he would, might even _be_ sorry for not having a better filter but not sorry enough that he's got a mouth as quick as his mind.

"I understand Human etno-centrism is still difficult to overcome to this day," continues Spock, like he really, really can't help himself. He doesn't sound _mean_. Mostly curious, and somewhat... tense? "But it is unbecoming of a Xenolinguist."

Nyota doesn't let that shake her. If she were a little bit insecure, she would've thought him to have an issue with her, despite knowing her for all of a few days. As it is, she thinks he's just blunt, which she understands Vulcans are. And if she's just as good as a people reader as she hopes, he seems slightly... _Intrigued_ by her. It's kind of amusing, and flattering too. But his attitude bothers her a little nonetheless.

"It's a _fact_ that interpersonal relationships dictate language," she says to him. "It's arguably the whole point of it, and that's a _fact_ in every quadrant in the galaxy," she holds his gaze, her heart suddenly beating fast in her chest. Alright. Maybe she is a little bit more bothered than she thought she was. "Permission to speak freely?"

Spock nods. "Please."

"Maybe Vulcans don't have words for feelings but I'm certain you have words for how you interact with each other, and it is _logical_ that some interactions are more intimate than others and so it is also _logical_ that there would be words for how you cultivate them. Is it not?"

He doesn't say anything.

They just stare at each other for a moment.

For the first time, Spock looks away first. _Check_.

Xander clears his throat. Out of all of them he appears to be the most uncomfortable with the tension cackling in the air. " _Ohhkay_. So. I think, it— it's important to remember the probability of them wanting to know first the same things we want to know first, right? So, that, uh, that'd be, I think, how their planet works, from a scientific perspective, like, how similarly they are affected by gravity and weather conditions and how they perceive time and um, and then, also, the cultural aspect as in, how their society works, right?"

"Yeah," Angie nods, jumping in, "I know what you mean, but I agree with Lt. Uhura. We can only understand macro if we understand micro, otherwise we'll lose context pretty easily. We won't understand their nature and their environment if we don't understand them as sentient beings. Besides, we don't want to talk to their rain clouds, we want to talk to _them_."

Nyota stands up, scrolls through a few pages in the 3D hologram. "So, we should be looking for their motivations, how they express themselves both instinctively and not and then we'll understand the collective societies. Actually, I guess to put it plainly, we should focus first on what they call their most basic actions."

" _She means verbs_ ," says Lee, in Vulcan, leveling Spock with a stare.

Nyota feels a tiny bit vindicated, and bites down her lip to hold back a smile. Nobody makes an honorable career in linguistics without some basic grasp of a few of Federation Founders' languages. One of the other reasons she took an interest in Vulcan in particular is because she overheard a song once, thought it was too beautiful and wanted more of that melodic arrangement of words. As Vulcan is not always on the curriculum at Starfleet and given that universal translators exist, it's still rare for anyone outside of higher ranks or diplomacy to learn it. Nyota knew it but she's constantly being reminded that she is amongst like-minded people, who hope for a brilliant future and who love communication. So Lee, for all her dismissive demeanor, cares a whole lot about everything, everyone and already she is a friend.

"Then," Nyota continues, "We'll be able to get a grasp in how they construct their phrases."

"Good thing we got a way to at least start _something_ , since there's some annotations from Chief Mir'na," Angie says, distractedly. 

"Indeed," agrees Spock. "It would also be imperative to revisit and make use of data from previous studies about First Contact missions to have a frame of reference." 

His face shows no trace of emotion, but to Nyota that makes him that much more transparent. He is not afflicted or hurt or uncomfortable or anything, but a flicker in his eyes makes her pause, because she knows what it feels like to feel like fish out of water, or just to feel like you're unique in a very lonely way. 

If Vulcans weren't part of the No Touch Restriction Rules, she's sure she'd be reaching out, patting his arm, the way someone does to reassure everything is fine, no hard feelings, right? She's not sorry, far from it, but she boarded this ship hoping to make it her home and to make new friends. This inconvenient urge to reach out, even when she's upset and her rationality is telling her it's a bad idea (how ironic, this, now), it's… silly. So _silly_. Yet, here it is, without warning.

She folds her own hands in her lap. They are not friends and he obviously doesn't feel inclined to change that.

Still.

What's obvious, anyway?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been almost a month since I last updated, really sorry about that. Time this year has been weird and writing has been... not how I hoped. Can't promise to have consistent updates, but this fic still is honestly one of my fav things and I love this idea with all my heart now and forever ok. Sorry for any possible mistakes etc etc, hope this little something is enjoyable!

"I think we can come up with some form of basic understanding of their alphabet soon and then some words, and maybe some sentences in a couple of weeks, max," Angie says, eyes sparkling in excitement. "Think we can do it?"

Lee goes back to circling more words with red, a loose strand of hair falling from behind her ear.

"If you give me enough cake as payment, I'll have a respectable list of phrases in a week."

"If all of you agree to go to Kalaraoke night, I can get it in one day."

Spock's eyebrow twitches. "That is highly unlikely."

"True," Nyota admits, shrugging, without taking her eyes off the symbols. "I'd actually do it in two."

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices he exchanges a look with Xander, who's apparently very amused with their back and forth today, if only because it hasn't been as antagonistic as it once was and there's a chance he has a peculiar sense of humor.

"I'll go," Angie cuts in. "Despite not knowing what that is."

Nyota gives her a smile. "It's a party where people sing. But it's not a rehearsed presentation, it's… Spontaneous, in a way, so it's okay if you're not a good singer. That's part of the fun. It's actually called  _ karaoke _ but Kala— sorry, Dr. Lima, she thinks she's very funny. Have none of you heard about it?"

There is a pause.

"Well, you all should come, it's fun. Didn't you say music is one of your passions, Angie?"

"I did and it is."

"I'm pretty sure you're gonna love it," says Lee. "Will there be food?"

Nyota snorts a chuckle. "Yes."

They continue working in silence for a while, each making their own annotations and sorting out each their own piece of the puzzle and coming together when needed to better understand what they're looking at. It's complex enough that maybe Nyota has stayed up late once or twice trying to figure out what it's being said, what's being shared and is begging to be understood, and she has had to endure long Alpha Shifts on little sleep because of her curiosity.

It helped that nothing too serious had been going on. Space being so vast means that sometimes they just wander through, only cataloguing whatever they find in the vacuum, meteors and all kinds of debris, and focusing on work inside the ship. That happens especially if one particular week Captain Pike decides to give the crew room to breathe and rest by having the Enterprise travel as slow as possible. Nyota is glad her shifts don't demand too much of her right now, though she can admit she's still looking forward to whatever the future holds. Kala is still making threats to stab her with an injection of calmants if she doesn't sleep, so slowly but surely Nyota is managing to put work aside to get solid eight-hours of sleep, trying to find a good balance between rest and expectations. Last night she only got six hours of sleep and woke up with a sore neck but the only reason they're no longer stuck here and now is because of her dedication. She allows herself to take pride in that (and to promise herself she'll slow down and have a break for the appropriate amount of time she needs from now on).

A beep distracts her and as she looks up Xander taps something on his screen and then hums, not taking his eyes off his notes. "Not that it's a big deal or anything, but who's curating the list of songs of this party and how embarrassing will they be?"

Nyota chuckles as the beeping sound stops. "I think it's going to be a pretty even split. But you don't have to sing anything if you don't want to."

"Yeah," Xander smiles, shrugging. "But I'll still have to hear it."

"Ensign," says Spock, voice firm. 

"Sorry, sir," Xander apologizes.

"It's fine. Making fun of your friends messing up your favorite songs is also part of the fun."

Nyota is still smiling when she turns to look at Spock. She waits until his eyes find hers, as they inexplicably always do. He's so quiet and concentrated when they sit down in this room to work on these translations it's easy to think he's not interested in socializing at all. Nyota can't find it in her heart to ignore him, she never forgets his presence. As the days go by, his lack of interest in joining friendly conversation has become more and more frustrating. Even more because he seems to be ignoring  _ her _ , as she's seen him in passing being thoroughly engaged in Xander talking enthusiastically about something and being as open as Vulcans can be when Angie or Lee ask him anything. It's not that Nyota never met anyone that didn't like her, but the pointed way in which he does it seems to get under her skin despite her attempts to shield herself and to not care. She has convinced herself to not confront him about it several times, but the more it happens, the more she feels an inkling to question him why he's so intent to keep himself away from her.

"You're invited too, sir," she says, a good awkward moment maintaining eye contact later, as the rest of the group is focused on their tasks. "Unless you deem it too illogical."

He says nothing, but she's close enough to him she catches his calm breathing stutter. She stares at his eyes, at his eyebrows trying so hard to show no trace of distress, at his mouth as unclenches his jaw to speak. 

"Not at all. Social events are a commonality between many cultures, interpreted to be one of many bonding exercises."

Nyota leans back in her chair, crosses her arms over her chest. In about less than ten minutes she needs to report for duty on the Bridge, but she plans to enjoy this moment as long as it lasts. Even for a Vulcan, Spock looks positively flustered. "Is that a yes, you'll go?"

"I will consider it."

He calmly gathers up his things and stands up. He'll be in the same shift on the Bridge in a few minutes too, which is both funny since he can't ignore her there and also bothers her because she's started to feel like an inconvenience when she knows she's not, since she's only open and welcoming and doesn't  _ force _ herself into friendships with anyone. She doesn't think she's forcing anything here, since she doesn't go after him constantly to try and make conversation. He still hasn't sent her the Vulcan literary recommendations list he promised and she hasn't pressured him. The same way he always waits for her to voice her opinion before they make a decision about the translations, she always waits until he gives her room to step closer so they can work together. When they're both on the Bridge, professionalism comes first. She hasn't  _ pushed _ and yet it feels like he is pushing her away.

She says goodbye to the Ensigns and as they walk side by side, Nyota feels something inside her sink, suddenly. Has she been assuming his attitude was only his Vulcan way of being and not a clear message he didn't want anything to do with her? Has she been inconvenient, forcing a friendship that would never flourish?

"Commander Spock?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

She stops in her tracks. She's been so absorbed in the work they're doing, in her own personal goals, on the fact that she's on the flagship that suddenly, she's overcome with fear that it prevented her from realizing if she wasn't being indelicate with others, and their own experiences and goals and  _ boundaries— _

She's not one to hide from problems but the unease she feels makes her want to run to her quarters and pretend she's sick just so she doesn't have to face him anymore today.

"Lieutenant?" asks Spock, hands behind his back. Goddammit, he's so tall—

"I would like to say you don't need to go to the party if my presence makes you uncomfortable. Sir."

There's his perfect breathing stuttering again. It's so imperceptible to anyone who isn't watching him so closely, she wonders if she's paying  _ too much _ attention. 

"I don't understand. Please, explain. Speak freely if you wish."

Nyota takes a deep breath. "I thought, at first, that you… Had an issue with me, for whatever reason and yes, I know, it is illogical but when I arrived that was my impression. But it just occurred to me that I may have precipitated and that my conclusion was judgemental and wrong, on a moral level, and I realized just now that I may make you uncomfortable and that you might feel pressured to socialize with me, to talk to me about anything that isn't work related. I assure you, I meant no offense and I apologize—"

"You have never offended me, Lieutenant," Spock cuts in. "Therefore, there is no need to apologize. And I assure you, I do not  _ feel _ any pressure."

Nyota swallows. "Of course, Commander."

He puffs his chest a little and to her surprise, says, "You may call me Spock when we are not discussing official matters."

There is a pause. Someone wearing command-yellow walks by, only to then turn around and address them.

"Hey, lovebirds," says Number One. Nyota feels her face get warm. "Be at the Ready Room in exactly ten minutes."

"Aye, sir," they say in unison.

Number One disappears through the corridors, and Nyota starts again, "As I was saying—"

"There is nothing to be said, Lieutenant. I must tell you, however, that you need not worry as I have no issues with you whatsoever. My apologies if—"

"No, no, no," she holds up her hand. "There's no need for that."

He nods. "Very well."

Nyota looks down at her feet, then up again. 

"You can still go to the party and pretend I'm not there, if you'd like."

He frowns. "For what purpose?"

"Like I said, if I make you uncomfortable—"

"You do not."

"I thought Vulcans didn't lie, Commander."

He's taken aback by that, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm sorry," Nyota says in a rushed breath. "That was out of line."

"It is of no consequence," Spock says, and by his posture the conversation is over. "Shall we go? Number One may have important information to give us."

The turbolift ride is as tense as she expects. The silence echoes in her ears and the small relief she feels doesn't completely settle in her stomach.

Before they reach their destination, Nyota takes one leap of faith and, without taking her eyes off the ridges on the turbolift's wall, asks, "Will you be there?"

She can sense him looking at her, and she knows she made everything weirder than it probably had to be and now there's a rollercoaster of emotions going through her body. Maybe it's her lack of sleep, maybe it's that she's been too preoccupied with work and maybe it doesn't  _ mean _ anything—

"Yes," is all Spock says. The turbolift is big and there are the No Touching regulations and  _ yet _ he is standing right beside her, the smallest distance between them. Nyota can't be sure and she doesn't want to guess, she likes people who use words and are honest with them so she doesn't  _ have _ to guess, so she stays still, as still as she can, careful that there's not the slightest chance she'll be the one who makes their arms touch.


End file.
